


Cursed, cursed, cursed.

by Cucuxumusu



Category: Bleach
Genre: A bit of dom-Ichi, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Bones and Skulls, Bottom Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Grimmjow just needs some love, Ichigo is taking advantage x100, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Priest and Exorcist, body painting, halloween fic, kinky rituals, souls of the dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27207280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cucuxumusu/pseuds/Cucuxumusu
Summary: As one of the most powerful priests of Japan, Ichigo Kurosaki is sent to the Death Mountains to study the legends and myths that had plagued them for centuries, and solve an ancient mystery. However, upon arrival, it will be clear that things are not as he had expected and that this mission is going to be more complicated than he had believed. Even more when he encounters a handsome warrior who seems to be intimately related with the legends.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques & Kurosaki Ichigo, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 143
Collections: GrimmIchi Reverse Bang 2020





	1. White Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was supposed to be my BigBang fic for this year, but we all know how that event turned out to be, so instead have this little Halloween fic that will fit it just as well. It is based on a Japanese myth that I always belived to match Bleach pretty neatly, I belive it might had inspired the whole Hollow drama too, and I'm surprised it hadn't been used before.
> 
> In any case and as always: read the tags before reading, the characters don't belong to me, any resemblance with reality is a mere coincidence, don't practice what you see here at home, and if you don't like it don't read. 
> 
> Thanks and welcome, I hope you enjoy this.

The mountains of the death looked exactly like any other mountains Ichigo had seen before. Its tall peaks were covered by a deep green forest, it had sharp cliffs that promised a quick death, and several paths that would be a labyrinth for any foreign traveller. There were clouds tendrils, typical of the rainy season, slowly gliding over the whole place and giving it a mysterious eerie look. It was a beautiful place, a raw and wild landscape with the warm and deep colours of autumn already in full bloom, and the humidity and the scent of decomposing things strong around it.

But that wasn’t all.

The mountain he was walking into was one of those mysteries that needed to be solved. For centuries, its shadow had haunted the people around the place, and there were a hundred myths and legends about it. Stories of old battles, of haunted souls, and people who never came back from its wandering paths. So, after centuries of complains and debates about it, Ichigo’s people had decided it was time to solve the mystery and they had sent him here. He was a traveling priest. A man who guided and aided people in lost and secluded places of the world.

Ichigo had spent the last week talking with the people from the nearby villages asking questions, but it had served to nothing. They just repeated the stories and legends he already knew, and when asking for facts they just shook their head confused. No one had dared enter the place in years, and before that, walking among the trees had been a punishment, only criminals and murderers had been allowed to enter the mountain never to return again. The local people had been so scared of the place it had taken Ichigo way too much time to even make them talk.

Now, inside said mountain, Ichigo could understand the unease.

He still didn’t know what it was, but there was a feeling, an instinct inside him that had been screaming at him the whole time since he had set foot in the place. _Something was just wrong_. Too silent, too death, too eerie. He hadn’t spotted an animal, nor even an insect since he had arrived, and the air of the place sometimes transported a foul odour, like rusty blood, or putrid meat. The mountain felt more than cursed. It felt like an opening gate into the other world, a place where no human would be able to survive.

Thankfully, the sun was beginning to set, and by experience, Ichigo knew that whatever lived among these trees and shadows was about to come out and reveal itself. At least that was what the stories told. Ichigo will only have to deal with it then, save the mountain, and go back home. Easy and nice. His job was not really that difficult.

After walking a bit more over frozen creaks and slippery rocks, Ichigo finally found a spot in the mountain that would serve his purpose. Right on top of a little spring, and on the verge of one of those deadly cliffs, a huge maple tree extended his branches up to the sky. The tree was huge, probably centuries old, and it ruled over the nearby trees sucking in all the sun. It will give Ichigo the best view to study whatever happened in the forest, because that was the rule number one on his job and normal common sense: you needed to study your opponent before attacking it.

Ichigo begun to climb the huge old tree as the sun begun to set over the whole valley. His priest robes, a thick black kimono over a white undergarment, a little travel cloak and a concealing straw hat, more a hindrance than a protection for these kinds of situations.

No red nor orange tinted the sky today as he climbed up, not under the heavy mantle of clouds, instead the place just started to darken and darken until the whole forest plunged into blackness. There will be no moon either, which complicated his duty, but Ichigo was used to such things, and with a little practise, he just let his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, as he adjusted himself over a wide branch and rested his tired muscles from all that climbing and walking.

He checked his protections too. Just before entering the place he had painted his arms and legs with sutras and mantras, the ink had been a special one, made from the ashes of a sacred temple, and it should offer him the protection and the invisibility he required for this. He pushed his traveling bag aside too, with the talismans, food and clothes he always used for traveling, and instead searched for the iron dagger to hide it among his robes. He meditated a bit after that, taking deep breathes into his lungs and then exhaling the air slowly to settle his mind, to ready his body, and to temper his soul since it will probably be a long night.

Then, hight in the tree, with the wind moving the leaves around him and making him shiver, and a little soft autumn rain falling once more over the place, Ichigo waited.

Hours passed slowly but surely. The moon moved in the sky behind the thick clouds, and the rain turned even harsher with the cold, turning his light shivering into full body trembling. Under him, the forest stilled, asleep, unmoving and waiting, the leaves glinted silver by the soft light and the wind made it almost look like a living creature.

It was close to midnight, on the most silent and harsh of the hours, when it finally happened.

Little lights started to appear on the forest, bright dots in a sea of pure darkness that slowly started to illuminate the whole mountain. The little lights shone with intent as they appeared, harsh and bright, their light a deep blue that made them look like lanterns moving around, sad and lonely, and searching for something.

The wandering souls of the dead.

Ichigo observed them with fascination at first, and then with worry, because despite their beauty and playful movements, _there were just too many of them_. They flickered to life, one after another, little and small, innocent and pure, but slowly illuminating the whole forest and the surrounding valleys, until the whole huge mountains turned into a sea of harsh blue. 

Ichigo cursed.

There had to be millions of them. Millions upon millions of dead souls all gathered in one place. All small and little, all moving towards one place of the forest as if searching for something, as if lured by something. Ichigo observed them in silence, frozen by the sight. Then, as if called by a sudden voice, the lights stilled, paralyzed, and sparkled one more time, burning hot, turning yellow and then a deep deadly red until they completely disappeared.

The forest plunged into darkness once more. The wind had stopped. The rain too. The silence of the place suddenly felt like a hand around Ichigo’s ears, as if he had suddenly gone deaf. The hair in his body stood on end, his pulse spiked in fear as something moved under his sight.

There was a rattling of bones. A cry. A scream.

And it came to life.

Ichigo observed it form with his own eyes disbelievingly, horrified, his whole body disgusted by the sight of it as all living creatures would. The white skull rose over the trees with a slow movement, the hands made of millions upon millions of bones gripped the cliffs so it could just stand, and when he rose his head to look at the sky, it’s eyes shone with the light of millions of red and dead souls.

It hurt to look at it, it was wrong, it was chaos, it was painful. The O-dokuro rose over the little valley and it’s little sleeping mountain like a god who had come to avenge the dead.

Ichigo found himself paralyzed as he stared at the skeleton taller than mountains and composed of the bones of those who had been killed. Ichigo himself had heard the legends, and had learned the stories, but this was just beyond his imagination. He could have never expected something like this. A part of his mind knew this was just another monster. One that rose from the rage and pain of those who died in battle and who had received no proper burial. He knew this was just a compound of souls who used their bones and their rage together to wreak havoc among the living. They were easy to exorcise; they were just souls that needed help to cross to the other side.

But this still felt different.

Stories talked about big monsters, the bones of those who had died pilling one over the others to create a bigger skeleton who could make even bigger harm. But this one was just too big, it rose over the mountain, it smashed trees with every step, and it seemed to be able to reach to the moon. How many people had died to create such a thing? What had happened here? How long had it been awaking, night after night to scream its rage?

Ichigo observed it walk over the mountains. It was huge, it was magnificent, but there was also something strange in it.

Ichigo observed how it griped its head to scream with no voice, and how he knelt over the trees and started to rip the little bones from its body as if it wanted to destroy itself. That…made no sense. O-dokuros were vengeful creatures, they destroyed, killed, ate living people so they could add to their bones, but this one behaved strangely as it slashed itself and gripped its head in desperation.

Ichigo suddenly realized that a monster this size could have easily travel into the nearby villages to eat more souls and destroy more lives, yet, those little places knew nothing of its existence and had prospered without problem. But it killed, right? All those criminals and thieves have never returned from the mountain, then…he only ate those who entered the place?

Ichigo observed the monster for a while as he had been trained to do.

Again, it tried to tear at its own head, and its own bones, as if it wanted to make itself disappear, but it all served to nothing, the bones always seemed to turn back to its position, reunite to create the whole monster. After a while the monster stopped its attempt altogether.

Rain stated to pour once more over the forest and poured over the monster too, the brumes crawled between its ribs and the wind passed around it as if the creature didn’t even exist.

The sight felt…lonely.

Finally, the monster stood once more and walked over the mountain, slow and steady, as if resignedly searching for more bones and more meat to take to its pile. Ichigo observed it thought the night. Astonished, tired and wet among the maple branches. He observed it give a hundred turns around the mountain, always searching, always guarding its little part of the world with a strange resignation in his steps.

Finally, as the first rays of the sun sparkled red over the mountain and between the dissolving clouds, the huge skull creature stopped its pacing. It looked at the wild spectacle of lights and reds for a moment and then…it crumbled.

Millions of bones fell into the ground and disappeared into the air with a grating sound that made Ichigo’s ears bleed. On the ground, the blue little lights returned, squirming, moving away and back into their resting places, their night escapade done, their time gone.

As the clouds finally dissipated over the mountain, and as the sun glowed bright over the wet trees, everything turned back to normal, as if the monster had never existed, as if it had only been an hallucination.

…oOo…

Grimmjow woke up over a pile of bones once more. White, corroded, and so many of them it numbed the mind to even count them. They stretched between the trees, over the branches, and painted the greens and read of the forest with a strange unsettling white.

He sighted. His body ached as if he had walked thousand miles in a night, and his head was still filled with that rage, with the hunger, the pain, and screams. He felt cold. Frozen. Dead. He always felt cold nowadays he realized with a frown.

Getting up, he balanced himself over the skulls and broken vertebra, and slowly descended the pile he had been thrown into. His legs trembled, his whole body still felt out of his control, not his, not human, but he was already used to this. With a final daring jump, he stepped out of the mountain of bones and into the solid ground of the forest.

He breathed deep the mountain air. For just a moment. Steading himself. Remembering himself.

When he opened his eyes, he realized it was a sunny day with no cloud in the sky. That was good. Sun meant warmth, it meant the cold would rest for just a bit, and that he would be able to sleep with no care. Thankful, he walked with eager steps further into the forest, under the green and yellow trees and over the mossy wet moss, until there were no more bones and dead around him.

His steps guided him towards the top of the mountain without him needing to think about it, the routine already settled into his body. After the nights he always returned to the little house of wood and straw that had been built near the zenith of the tallest mountain. But he was tired today, he felt too tired recently, and his muscles protested as he climbed over rocks and jumped over the small springs covered with tiny mushrooms, but he still persisted and kept on climbing, needing to reach his home and a place of safety.

After two hours of climbing a path that had not been there for centuries, the little cottage house appeared on sight.

The house was no mansion, nor a wonderful creation of human skill, the small cottage had just been a little refuge for the travellers who had once walked through these mountains. It was just five tatamis long, with wooden panels that slid shut and could be opened depending on the climate, and a big round window from which you could observe the moon on clear nights.

Grimmjow suddenly observed the dark red colours of the maple trees around the house as he approached. The trees had grown so much in the last centuries that the house just seemed submerged in nature. With more moss covering the walls and grass starting to grow on the roof, it looked as if nature was beginning to reclaim it eagerly. It should feel beautiful, wild, enchanted, with all that green light, and soft looking leaves in every corner, but Grimmjow just failed to notice that beauty as he approached his home, too eager to lay down.

The house was open, just as he had left it the night before. An emblem of an old samurai house was exposed in the far wall, near two blades and a beautiful kimono of light blue silk, a futon had been spread on the floor but haven’t been used, and there were meats, herbs and little pots and casseroles sitting in one corner near a burn out fire, the last things that reminded him that he had once been human.

Grimmjow laid his body on the floor amid all his things, right under the sun bean that passed through the tree branches and through the round window, and just let go. He felt exhausted. Cursed. Sick. He knew he needed food, a bath, to talk, to fuck, so many things…but he was so tired of it.

Turning into a monster every night always left him cold and wasted, but recently the burden had turned so heavy and so overwhelming he felt himself dissociating. As if his body no longer belonged to him, as if it was slowly being taken away by the screams. They were so hungry recently, it had been so long since they had tasted blood and human meat, since they had heard the screams and cries. Grimmjow trembled just by remembering those nights they managed to hunt, and wondered what would happen once the screams won and he died.

But maybe that would be fine. Dying would mean the end, and that he would be able to finally, ultimately, _rest._

…oOo…

Ichigo spent the morning hunting. After the whole night seated over a tree and trembling in the cold night air, he had had the need to feel his muscles heating and stretching as he ran and practised over the mountain. Exercising always made him feel good. Hunting a few rabbits and eating them in a quick stew after a whole day of persecuting monsters had felt even better.

Ichigo was used to this kind of life of hunting, sleeping under the stars, and surviving. He had travelled through the nation and endured the heat of summer in the south and the cold of winter in the north. He knew how to care for himself no mattered the situation or place, and he knew how to thrive and provide for himself.

Priest like him however weren’t common.

He knew the temple in which he had trained to become an exorcist had been an oddity. And people like him, who hunted monsters, knew how to kill, and summoned the other forces of the world, were normally sent to serve and protect mayor temples and noble households. Important places where they could make a difference. Exorcism was a harsh and complicated science, and many of the priest who trained for it died on the first year from hunger or some kind of inexplicable illness, so most of them, when given an option, preferred the lavish palaces and boring noble courts. It had been the main reason his own noble father had sent him into that specific temple, so Ichigo could live a comfortable life despite his eccentric aspirations, and become a man who inspired respect. Ichigo was skilful, valuable, he knew how to kill legends and myths, but also how to talk politely to a nobleman. He was intelligent, trained, and an asset for the country.

To bad he hadn’t wanted the comfortable life.

The live he had now was the life Ichigo had dreamed of. The total freedom, wandering the world, visiting new places, new lands, doing this or that mission, just surviving, fighting, _living_. Ichigo, despite his noble blood, despite his skills, and despite his knowledge, had walked into this kind of life as if this was what he had been born to do. It still surprised his superiors and the people he had met along the way. He had been noble, skilful, he could have had anything he wanted, he could have lived in any way he wished, and he had chosen this one?

Ichigo smiled.

After filling his belly with the rabbits, after cleaning himself from the mud and the ink in a frozen cold river, and after performing his daily workout routine, Ichigo felt refreshed, grounded and ready for the mission. This part was the one he loved the most: the hunt. To feel the adrenaline and excitement and the breath of the dead on his nape.

He had been thinking all morning about the monster, but he still had no clue on what to do with it. Guiding a soul to the other world was easy. Amateur skills were needed for it. But guiding thousands upon thousands of souls thought the gate all at the same time while still trying to survive the other million? Not so easy. Ichigo had studied the O-dokuro’s legends at the training temple, he knew what they were and what needed to be done, but the simple wards and prayers would not work for a thing so big as the one he was facing.

And beside it all, there was a thing that still confused Ichigo. The monster had behaved strangely at the beginning, wanting to tear itself apart, screaming silently at the moon... Ichigo had known a lot of deadly monsters through his travels, incubi, ghost, tengu, but none of them had acted like this. Harming others? Yes. Harming one-self? Crazy.

Maybe there was something Ichigo was missing in all of this. Maybe he needed to study this further? One or two more nights of exploration would not bother his plans, and he had yet to explore the whole mountain. Maybe there was a shrine or some old house that would serve as a clue of what had once happened here. 

He knew he needed to reapply the sacred ink and the scriptures over his body once more, for security and to stay hidden, and that the task normally took hours, but he also wanted to keep on exploring and trying to solve the mystery. He looked at the sky. It was still midday; he will be fine. Taking a decision, he readjusted his straw hat, and once again he begun to walk under the autumn trees.

…oOo…

It was mid-afternoon and the sun had lost a bit of strength when Ichigo found a pile of bones in a pretty forest glare. The pile was a few meters hight, definitely not the whole monster, but it contained bones of all shapes and colours. Skulls of empty eyes, long stripped femurs, and broken vertebrae. Some were big and clearly belonged to warriors and the big men from the mountains around here, while other were small and delicate from baby girls and unborn children. Some had broken holes in them, a testament of the cause of dead of their owner, others looked new and as white as the moon, and some seemed able to crumble into thin dust if he so much as touched them.

Ichigo observed the whole place in silence. That feeling of wrongness and despair again filling his veins and numbing his mind. He leaned against a tree for a moment, overwhelmed, concerned. So many lives wasted, so many stories cut and ended with no purpose. Had it been war? Some plague? Another thing? What had happening in here?

After taking a calming breath, he stood once more and circled the glade with slow feet over the deep green moss, the contrast of it too harsh against the white of the bones. For a while, the sound of his footsteps was the only sound in the clear as he murmured a quick prayed. Calm and apologetic. A little rest for the angry souls.

It was in his second round around the place when he noticed the broken branches, and disturbed leaves on the ground. A trail. As if something had come down from the pile of bones. Then the trail turned into footprints in the mud nearby. Into _human footprints_ that disappeared up the mountain.

Ichigo observed them without understanding.

Humans? In the forest? How? How had they even survived the monster? And what had they been doing here in the pile? Did someone from the nearby village came? Was it one of the criminals? The footprint in the mud were perfectly conserved and they were big, some big man clearly packed with muscles or fat. They had been barefoot. Male.

Ichigo stopped and looked at the sun.

He frowned.

If he wanted to apply the wards and ink over his skin, he needed to do that _now_. But if he wanted to find the man responsible of the footprints, and kick him out of the forest before it was too late, he needed to start doing it now too since it could take hours to locate him before sundown. He needed to make a decision. His life or that of the stranger.

The decision wasn’t hard to make. Arranging his clothes so they wouldn’t mess with his run, Ichigo hurried once more back into the forest and up the mountain following the trail.

…oOo…

Grimmjow watched the sun beginning to lower behind the nearby mountains with impotence. He hadn’t done anything all day but sleep and soak in the sun. He still needed to eat, he still needed to bath and get rid of that putrid scent he carried with him, he also needed to change his clothes filled with holes and teared bits. But…did he really?

To be true he didn’t remember the last time he had eaten or done something as simple as bath. Maybe he didn’t need those things anymore. Maybe he had really stopped to be human and need human things. He also didn’t have the motivation these days for such little tasks, he felt weaker and weaker by the day. As if he was consuming himself.

He seated in the floor of the little house instead, with the twin blades and the kimono and everything else in the room still where it had always been. Where it will always remain. He observed the sun finally disappear and plunge the world into darkness once more and he trembled. Another night. Another nightmare. The millions of souls, the hundred screams, the pain and hunger. _The rage._

Sound by his right.

Grimmjow frowned and turned towards it. What would it be? An animal? There were no animals left in this forest anymore. They weren’t that stupid. The dried meat he had hanging in the corner of the house was of a bird that had passed over the mountain unaware of the atrocities hidden in its depts. A criminal then. But it had been centuries since they had stopped sending them in. Then what?

A man appeared in front of him cursing and breathing hard from running. Grimmjow opened his eyes disbelieving.

A priest.

…oOo…

Not believing what he was seeing, Ichigo observed the man seating placidly in the little mountain cottage, as if being there, in the middle of the horror story, was a normal thing to do.

He was a rugged big man. His hair a strange shade of light blue, like the wandering souls from the previous night, but much prettier and silky. His skin was deadly pale as if it had not seen the sun for years, and it was covered by little scars and even more mud. His clothes were also teared revealing more skin than should be appropriate, and he looked almost like an oversized beggar. A forgotten warrior in the middle of a cursed mountain, full of muscles, power, and sadness.

The blue eyes directed at him however were hard and intelligent, not the eyes of some unaware peasant that didn’t know what was happening, but those of a knowing leader. They were also filled with resignation, a deep, terrifying, and painful resignation that would break any man’s soul. A resignation that turned into surprise and anger as Ichigo stumbled out of the bushes and into his line of sight.

Ichigo stared back at him suddenly speechless too.

 _He was the hottest creature Ichigo had ever laid eyes upon_. Which was worrying, giving the starved-man appearance.

But there was something about his angry eyes, about that tattered half naked appearance, that pulled Ichigo forward. It almost felt as if Ichigo was facing a wild injured beast who had been kicked and kicked again and again, and was ready to bite his head off. A rogue forgotten samurai with no lord to serve. Wild and dangerous. Hot and completely unaware of it. It made him want to reach a hand to him and see what happened.

Ichigo shook his head sharply.

It was not the moment for that.

He opened his mouth, to warn him, to ask him to get out of this cursed place and fucking _run_ before it was too late, but the handsome male interrupted him.

“What the hell are you doing here?! Get out of here, you stupid asshole! You wanna die?!” The male screamed with a hoarse unused voice.

And there went the fantasy about the fallen respectful warrior. Far and far away. What the hell had he been expecting from a rascal in the mountains? Whoa. Such manners. At least his voice was hot too.

Ichigo blinked. What the hell? He opened his mouth once more to complain and warn the asshole about his impending doom and the creature in the mountain, but it was already too late.

The first blue light rose over the ground. Floating slowly into the air. Sparking blue to illuminate the little house and the forest around it. Delicate and beautiful. A warning before the tragedy.

They looked at each other in horror. 


	2. Blue Souls

Once again, Grimmjow observed the little blue lights flicker into existence all around him. One after another after another after another. All of them delicate and beautiful, illuminating the ancient forest, his small home, and the whole mountain with their blue eerie light, until there was no leave or rock left in darkness.

Every night was the same, no matter what he did, ran, or hid, they always found him. He had given up long ago on trying to fight or control them, he had long ago overcome the frustration and desperation the whole situation caused, and had come to terms with the fact that this was his life now. He didn’t try to escape anymore, nor did he cry, raged or begged at it to stop. He just let them take over, kill, murder, and then he woke up the next morning and waited for it to begin again. It was fine. It was his life.

However, tonight was not a normal night.

Grimmjow had known for centuries that the people who were sent into these mountains were only criminals and thugs, evil people who had been dumped here so they could be punished for their crimes. And for centuries, he had accepted his fate as their butcher too. He hated to kill, the blood, the snap of bones over the jaws of the creature, or the way the souls of the dead craved the life of their victims and savoured every scream and tear. It left him feeling sick for days every time he took a life in such a dishonourable way, but still, his mind had been able to accept it in some way. They were criminals, punishable, he was just another executioner doing his job, he had managed to rationalize the bloodshed and carnage to some extent.

 _But tonight was not a normal night_. Because in front of him, there was no monster nor criminal. It was just a priest. Clueless. Holy. Innocent. Killing him will mean to destroy one of the last remnants of his humanity, his morals, it will mean to become a bit more like the monster, and to let the barriers between them shatter.

Grimmjow clenches his fists in a sudden spike of panic as the blue lights started to move towards him. Fuck it. _It was just too late_. They were too deep into the mountains to push the stupid priest out of its borders, and there was just no way of stopping what was about to happen. Grimmjow knew. He had tried to stop it for centuries. It was over. He would transform. And the awakened souls would want the blood and life the priest possessed. Their rage and anger would numb Grimmjow’s own mind into a place where he wouldn’t be able to distinguish enemy from friend and in where he would do whatever the souls desired. The bloodlust will be so intense and overwhelming he would stop being himself for the night and just be a part of _them_.

The priest was going to die.

Grimmjow rose to his feet as the moment neared, as he realized he was going to murder an innocent.

For the first time in years, he found himself breaking, panic in his veins, agony in his mind. Killing only the bad guys had been his only mercy all this centuries, but if this was also taken away from him, he will finally break. He knew he will break. And then the souls will take over. He will disappear, and…

The first red soul entered his body. Around the mountain, the sea of blue slowly begun to turn into deep warning yellow and then red. It hurt. It always hurt. Red liquid fire filled his veins, and the two souls inside his body instantly begun to fight one another for control. Then there was a third, and a fourth. And then they were pouring into him like a cascade, making him unable to control his body any longer. There was just fighting. Surviving. Everything else was irrelevant.

They were so eager tonight to take over. They had noticed the priest too, and they knew what his presence meant, another feast, another life, another one to add to their ranks.

After a few more seconds, the agonizing pain faded as if his body couldn’t take it anymore as if pain no longer existed in its dimension. Grimmjow whimpered, and the sound was accompanied by a rattling of bones in the deep unnatural silence suddenly filling the mountains.

Then, the whole valley trembled as the gates of death opened over it.

The bones started to materialize out of thin air and all around his body in a silent succession. Skulls, clavicles, and teeth. Old, new and broken. The souls inside him calling to the only remnants in the living world they had, and using them to grow and grow and grow and grow, until they become a nightmare, a legend, Grimmjow’s everyday terror.

The O-dokuro rose once more over the mountain, his empty eyes glowing blue, and for the first night in decades, hungry.

…oOo…

Ichigo observed the transformation before him feeling sick, and overwhelmed by the situation. The handsome man, the one who had screamed at him and who had looked panicked a moment ago, now kept turning into a monster that would be able to shatter mountains and change the landscape.

It didn’t make sense. It was just impossible!

From what he had studied O-dokuros were only gangs of souls pulling together so they could cause damage in the world. But they were just that, angry souls! Weak once you managed to exorcise them or pull them apart. Like ghost. Like apparitions. It should be easy to get rid of them. But here, the whole phenomenon seemed to be out of the scale, not just by the share amount of dead souls that haunted the mountains, but because of the man among it all. They seemed to be using him as some kind of medium or vessel, and that was the part that scared Ichigo the most.

Possessions were common in Japan, the monsters and spirits tended to cause problems as they wandered into people bodies, but Ichigo had never seen a possession under such huge proportions. Another soul entering a living body was hard, painful, and it normally caused the victim to be sick for months. To have thousands upon thousands of souls poured into your body, night after night…it was just impossible! The man should have already been long dead. The pain, the share numbers, the bloodlust…he should have been gone ages ago.

Yet here he was. Turning, frowning in agony, and still looking at him as if asking him to flee.

And just like that, a deep respect bloomed in Ichigo chest. Awe. Admiration. Wonder. He took the decision just then. _He was going to save this man_. No matter how much it took from him or what he needed to do, he deserved to get over this torture and live.

Once more he observed the creature forming. Huge, inhuman, and now clearly having noticed him and wanting his blood. It was terrifying. Ichigo had seen hundreds of things in his travels, but to have the raging and bloodthirsty glares of so many dead people piercing you, would make anyone tremble, he guessed.

Ichigo started to walk back into the forest as the monster neared the end of its transformation, his fingers growing with more vertebras, and its ribs pilling on top of each other as it seemed to reach for the sky with its sheer size.

Deep down Ichigo knew running was futile in this case, especially with the size of the monster, but instincts were hard to control. He tried to breath and think of a rational solution. _‘Maybe I could exorcise them all now that they are piled up together. No. They are still too many. I could shatter the souls, like with demons, riding the world from their presence for ever. But that might hurt the man. Purifying? It will get rid of the anger and bloodlust…_ ’

Ichigo thought quickly, fast, as the creature slowly turned on him with a clear intent.

He was running away before he knew what he was doing. Big tall looming trees passed by him as he ran mountain down to the glen where he had seen those bones just hours ago. The creature followed him easily, its big foot eating away the distance with ease. However, Ichigo soon realized he was harder to follow than he had anticipated, with the monster being so huge, and Ichigo being so small, it made the persecution difficult. Like catching an ant who is moving thought straws. Trees and rocks snapped around him as big huge hands manoeuvred over him, more and more frustrated as it tried to figure things out. Ichigo smiled. A nervous, mildly panicked smile. His mind still racing.

This was suicide. Plain old good suicide.

The idea struck him right there.

“Seal them!” he exclaimed with a hoarse voice that sounded on the verge of crying.

Sealing won’t fix the problem, but it will help stop the current mess. Sealing will give him time to exorcise them one after another, not all at the same time as it was impossible to do. Sealing also won’t harm the man, and it will give Ichigo time to study the strange possession and why the souls were using the dude as a medium.

However, for the sealing he needed a container, something that will manage to hold such a huge number of souls and not tear itself apart.

Ichigo looked around. Trees and rocks falling apart once more as the monster scrambled for him. He was running out of time, the monster was getting tired of the game and had resorted to stomp his huge feet down into the side of the mountain to smash Ichigo.

The river? The man’s house? The scattered bones? Again, panic sparked his mind into motion.

“The mountain.”

He could seal the souls in the mountain. It was big enough, and it already held the souls inside during the day. It wasn’t a perfect plan thought, and Ichigo knew it. Sealing them over such a big area would require him to travel every creak of the mountain afterwards, so he could exorcise every last bit of them, a task that might take months or even years, and meanwhile the seals could always break, the curse return, or he could just die.

But there was no better idea.

Suddenly stopping in the middle of a moss-covered creak, Ichigo turned to face the monster.

Again, that terror assaulted him. It was so big, so angry, so full of death and rage. Looking at the monster was like looking into a piece of the creation that was just wrong. It made him sick, anxious, as if reality was twisting around him. However, Ichigo didn’t let the revulsion paralyze him.

Reaching inside his kimono, he gripped a few pieces of paper and took them out.

They weren’t nearly enough. Only five little rice-papers seals with enchantments written on them would barely be able to hold an incubus. But that was fine, Ichigo hadn’t survived this long because of his weakness or lack of tricks.

Closing his eyes and concentrating on that spark inside him, he started to pray. His words were quick and fast, practiced and repeated over and over again since the beginning of his training so many years ago. In his hands, the sealing papers trembled and then divided until he was holding ten pieces instead of five. Ichigo continued chanting and the ten slipped into twenty, into forty, and he kept chanting until a whole wall of sealing curses rose above him and around him, between the trees and towards the sky.

The O-Dokuro was now looming over him, looking at him with its death eyes as if the sudden magic in the air had made it pause.

It lasted barely a minute.

As if realizing what Ichigo was attempting, it raged, evil and mean. It smashed against the wall of paper around Ichigo trying to get to him with its huge bony hands, trying to end his life, now even with more intent, like a caged beast seeking his captor’s throat. However, whenever it touched the wall of paper, the bones crumpled and felt to the ground with the seals sizzling red over them.

Ichigo still kept on chanting, multiplying the spells, feeling the magic drown away from his body by the second. He had never pushed himself so much, never had needed to, he as one of the most powerful priest of Japan, if not the most. To push himself so much felt exhilarating and painful at the same time. The power in the air was so dense it was even hard to breathe.

The papers parted once more into two, the wall now enveloping the whole forest, the mountain peaks, shadowing the moon.

Ichigo finally stopped the chanting, his head pulsing, his arms aching madly as he tried to hold into so many papers and magic. Then he looked at the O-Dokuro who was once more paralyzed, looking at him scared, astonished, defeated.

Shouting with the thrill of the moment and the pain in his head, Ichigo walked towards the monster, this time pushing that wall of paper forward. The hundreds of enchantments smashed against the O-Dokuro’s body with a deafening sound. Bones broke, the enchantments sparkled as they sealed the souls against branches, against leaves, and against rocks and the clear springs. Ichigo continued to walk forward under the crumbling monster, pushing him back until it had no escape, as it kept falling down, smearing the whole mountain side with its remains.

Bones rained over Ichigo, seals, leaves and branches, cutting red striped over his arms, his face, tearing at his clothes like angry hands wanting to kill him even now. The sound of it all was piercing his mind. The magic in his blood thrumming as it was ripped away. Still Ichigo pushed forward, between the cascade of bones and souls until, after long minutes of fight, the monster finally disappeared from the world with a last evil rattle of its bones.

Ichigo lowered numb trembling arms.

Silence spread once more in the mountain, among the cold wind and among the ancient trees.

He took deep breaths as his head pounded in agony, and his body felt about to collapse. The trees and rocks and every little thing in the mountain around him was now covered with the rice paper, with the souls now sealed forever into them. They will no longer be able to work with the other millions of souls in the mountain and grow together into a horrific monster. They had been trapped. It was over.

It will be a hard job to purify each one by one, to find each seal, to clear the mountain, it was a job that would take years, even decades, but it was the only thing that he could have been done. It was fine. They were over. He was about to turn away from this mess and go find a place to collapse, when a scream broke the silence.

Ichigo instantly flinched cursing himself. _The man_. He had forgotten the man among this chaos and persecution. How had this madness affected him? He had done this sealing not wanting to harm him, but what if it hadn’t worked? What if the solution had been even worst than the problem? Ichigo had never seen something like this, what if it had been a mistake?

Ichigo crawled over the unsteady bones following the shouting, until the finally found the big man trashing among it all. He was whimpering in pain, his hands clawing at his body as if there was something wrong with it, he was breathing harshly, as if the damn seals had also affected him. Just as Ichigo was watching, strange marks started to appear over the warrior’s skin, over his exposed legs, around his neck and down his chest. His little kimono was so broken, so dirty and old, that it was a miracle it was still holding together over the man’s pale skin. And with that trashing, and moaning and growling…well, the image was not exactly pure and innocent. Ichigo cursed himself at the thought. He was tired and about to pass out, so it was only normal for his mind to take the horny turn.

He approached the man carefully, trying to take a good look at the new appearing marks and what they could be. It didn’t have an overly complicated meaning, Ichigo had seen it before: a curse.

The man had been cursed by the O-dokuro? That made no damn sense, this had to have another explanation, one that he was too tired to find out about. Still, Ichigo had no time to wonder about it all, he was fucking wasted and the man in pain.

Producing another seal, he changed the characters on it to accommodate the curse, and then pressed it into the man’s ankle. This was shitty job. He was only delaying things for latter, sealing something was like sweeping dirt under the rug, like believing things weren’t there if you couldn’t see them. Still, as the blue-haired beauty stopped trashing and his breathing became easier and relaxed, Ichigo found he didn’t give a fuck about it. He would deal with the stranger’s curse in the morning. He could already feel it settle over his own shoulders; the power required to tune it down way too big for one little curse.

It had to be one hell of a spell.

‘ _One step at a time’_ he promised himself ‘One answer at the time’. He will deal with all this tomorrow. He was only doing damage control now, that was all, today stopping the madness, tomorrow fixing it. He was okay. Everything was fine.

…oOo…

When Grimmjow woke up, the sun was already up in the sky in what had to be midmorning, but as it tended to happen recently, the sky was once more covered by a dense mantle clouds. Rain was pouring all over the forest, the sound of it calming, the scent of moss and wet things overwhelming in the cool air. The sight was an usual one and comforting in a strange way.

It was all so peaceful, so calm, that it took Grimmjow a while to notice something was off.

Today he was warm, tucked nicely under the covers of a bed he hadn’t used in months, and he was feeling drowsy and relaxed as he used to feel after a good night of sleep. There was also the subtle light of a fire in a corner, warming the room even more, and helping spread the nice smell of cooked savoury things all over the room.

That was odd. Grimmjow never slept on his bed anymore. He never ate. He never lit a fire.

As his mind started to wake up, it sluggishly tried to recall what had happened, what had changed, and soon, the memories rushed right back. The priest, the souls claiming him once more, the chase, the anger, the strange madness when the souls were ripped away from him, the pain, the agony… the _blackness_.

He sat up on the bed feeling the overwhelming panic grip a tight fist around his hearth once more. Death was a thing he sometimes craved, but he was terrified of it, he had done such a things while alive that nothing good could be waiting him on the other side. Yesterday’s blackness, that emptiness that had claimed him in the end, it had resembled death way too much.

“So, you are awake.” a voice calmly commented by his right.

Grimmjow quickly turned to see the priest from yesterday, carelessly leaning against the open sliding panel of the house, watching the rain fall over the forest around the cottage.

He looked different under the morning light. Better. Last time there had been too much panic and surprise in the moment to properly pay attention to him, and Grimmjow could only remember the other covered in mud and wet clothes, his posture tired, his eyes surprised. Back then he had looked like an errand priest, too poor, and too wasted to even dress properly or be remarkable.

Now, however, the man felt different. The old dirty travel clothes had been changed by a new black kimono, the quality and cut of it too good to be owned by a poor errand priest. He had also cleaned himself, and he looked rested and fresh, his tanned skin clean of any dirt making him look younger, and his orange hair brushed and combed properly into ruffled even spikes.

They were only little things, minor details, the clothes, the posture, but they still managed to change the image of the man completely. Grimmjow suddenly felt as if he was looking into royalty. There was an intensity in the man, a power and grace that just commanded to be respected and listened. The deep strange colour of his hair made him look wild and dangerous, his eyes were intelligent, those of people who had seen many things, and the way his mouth curved easily into a smirk spoke of humour and a careless attitude.

He was hot. Attractive even. Appealing.

Which was weird, because he was a fucking celibate priest, maybe a dangerous stranger. And because the last time Grimmjow had checked, he had been into girls. Maybe the solitude was finally getting into him. Grimmjow blinked, surprised at his own thoughts. It’s been years since he had had those kinds of thoughts, years since he had felt something other than the numbness and coldness. What had happened? He remembered the last night, the monster crumbling, the souls leaving him, but he couldn’t understand a thing.

He looked once more at the man, as if checking him.

“You are alive,” he commented surprised too, he had been the first man who had even survived a night in this place. He frowned. “Wha-…what happened? Who are you?”

His voice sounded strained. Unused and rough. He hated it.

The priest stood up as on cue, and approached the bubbling cauldron in the fire. He took a bowl and poured some of the cauldron’s contents into it before approaching Grimmjow once more and giving it to him. It looked like soup. A few little pieces of pumpkin along with the cured meats that had been hanging in the corner for years, a few floating grains of rice, and an herb Grimmjow couldn’t identify. Grimmjow shipped at it experimentally.

It tasted of nature and fresh things, like a piece of the world cooked into a bowl. It warmed a part of his soul he didn’t remembered had been there to start with.

“My name is Ichigo Kurosaki,” the man said sitting by his side and watching him ship the bowl carefully “I’m a Buddhist priest trained in the arts of fighting and exorcising.”

“Exorcising?” Grimmjow said frowning, he didn’t like the sound of it.

“Yeah,” Ichigo said shrugging. “My people heard of the legends of these mountains and sent me to check on them. I was expected to get rid of the nuisance and come back. Things however got a bit complicated.”

Grimmjow snorted at that. No shit.

He observed his bowl, feeling too many things at the same time. The priest kept observing him, with that intensity and concentration. It was hard to stand the eyes of such a man, especially after so long without talking to anyone, it made him uncomfortable and wary. Also a bit self-conscious.

“So, what happened? Is it…gone?”

Grimmjow’s words sounded desperate to his own ears. It pissed him off. He had given up hope long ago, centuries ago, he had known he will die along the monster. But if the monster was gone, if he was still here…It almost hurt him to think about that possibility.

By his side however the priest grimanced. “Yes and no” he said quickly “It’s a bit complicated. I sealed the souls in the mountain, they are still here, but they won’t be able to get out and pile all together into the O-Dokuro.”

Grimmjow looked at the man, surprised. That stupid hope…that stupid hope was still there no matter how many nights he had became a monster, and how deep down he had tried to push it. “So… I’m free?”

“No.” The priest said, no room for debate in his tone “The seals won’t hold for long, there is just too much power in this place. It will give me more time to exorcise the souls one by one, but that’s it. If the seals break before I’m done, the creature will come back. The same goes for you and your curse.”

Grimmjow actually flinched at that last word. He felt the panic once more, the eyes of the other glued to his every move. He tried to contain his reaction, hide it, push it away, but it was impossible. The curse was the only thing he never allowed himself to think about. It hurt, it drowned him, it turned him into a scared useless thing.

Silence spread into the room. Grimmjow could feel the priest waiting for him to explain and answer questions, but he just couldn’t and the moment stretched for too long.

Finally, the priest sighed. Taking the now empty bowl from his hands, the stood and went to refill it with more soup. Grimmjow observed him. The way his presence filled the room, the confident way he moved, the way his strange hair shone against the fire light, it was hella distracting and intimidating. He had never met someone like this priest.

When the man returned, Grimmjow accepted the food and tried to focus and calm down once more.

“If you want me to help you,” Ichigo commented way too casually. “I need to know what I’m facing.”

Grimmjow…he just accepted it. There was no point in hiding it anyway. He could try denial, he could be a coward and ran away, but if there was only one chance to break this…he won’t run away anymore.

“My name is Grimmjow Jaggerjackes, and I was part of the Souske Clan,” the insignias in the walls, the two swords, this house, those were memories of another time and another life he could barely remember. “My… clan, was renowned for its deadly warriors and our like for war and destruction. We were trained from the cradle and were put into a training that would make most men clinge both mentally and physically”.

Grimmjow however remembered it with fondness. The sweat, the pain in his muscles, his mother’s proud face.

“As a warrior clan, my people took part in several battles and feuds on the land under the Shogun’s command, and thanks to our skill, we soon became one of the most powerful families of the country. With that new power however, come new conflicts, more wars and more enemies. We…we should have stopped I guess, see the danger waiting, but we were proud warriors, we weren’t scared of some pain and death, and so for centuries, we fought and killed and kept gaining power.”

Grimmjow shallowed. His mind going back to the face of a man he had loved dearly. “It was in the time of my father, Aizen Souske, that weird things started to happen in our lands.”

“The O-dokuro?”

Grimmjow nodded.

“At first it was nothing big, things went missing, someone got injured, nothing big, but then things started to get worst. Animals started to go missing, then people, then whole families. When I was twelve, the room I was sleeping in, suddenly caught fire before my eyes, blue fire, and when I reached my eighteen year, people were already talking about a curse and leaving the main house.”

The right and comfortable life he had lived had suddenly tuned harsh, no one wanting to help his family any longer and get killed. Servants had vanished, his men had changed into better clans, even peasants and common folk had abandoned their lands in fear of what had happened.

“My mom was terrified of it all, but my father was a warrior, never scared and never weak. He paid no attention to what was happening and when I turned twenty, he just went into another battle with no care in the world with the few warriors that remained. My mother disappeared then…and that time I saw it, the real monster, the souls of the people we have killed for ages wanting to take revenge on out bloodthirsty family. They took her, and I saw them kill her before my eyes, while I could do nothing to stop them”

He sighted, passing a hand though his face.

“When my father returned…he was not the same. My mother’s death changed him. I told him what had happened, and finally, he called a shaman.” He shook his head. “The man however said he had never seen a thing like that monster, and had never heard of something like it. There were no records, no ritual to stop it. The monster was just _so big_ , and it just kept growing and growing and killing our people with no one to stop him. The shaman finally decided that the only way to stop it would be to chain it into a remote place where it could hurt no one, but for that…”

“A sacrifice was required.”

Grimmjow nodded.

“Since we caused the monster to rise, a man from our clan should be the one to sacrifice. My father was…not stable enough for that, so I stepped forward and accepted the role as heir of the clan. I had had a connection with these mountains since I used to come here to play when young, and so this place was chosen as it jail. The ritual was performed a week later. They confined me to the mountain first, so I could never step a food outside them nor harm anyone, and then…they linked the curse of the monster to me, so the souls would always come to me instead of roaming our lands feely.”

“How long ago was this?” the priest asked, worry in his words.

“I don’t know,” Grimmjow said slowly, careful of letting the madness soak into his voice “I stopped counting after the first couple of centuries.”

No one had come see him after that night and that ritual. Not his father, not his friends, not even the shaman. He had been abandoned here for eternity, alone, paying the sins he had not even committed. It had hurt at first, and he had raged and even enjoyed the nights the monster managed to kill. Why him? He had wondered. Why had they abandoned him like this? But then year after year had passed, the coldness of the souls had settled, and the bitter acceptance had appeared.

It still hurt. The uncertainty, the constant fear night after night wondering if he was going to kill again or get killed himself. The loneliness. He had pushed and pushed, he kept trying to survive and endure this like the warrior he was and had been raised to be, but he knew he was losing the battle. He was realizing it even now as the priest changed his routine, making him eat, and sleep like he had not done in years. Like any other human needed to do. 

Madness was coming for him, he was becoming less and less human by the day…how much time he had left before the souls also claimed him among their ranks? Would this really be his life then? A wasted cage for a ragging beast? Was this all that would be left of him?

A hand was suddenly, on his shoulders, and Grimmjow suddenly realized he was crying. He tried to wipe the tears away fast, hating them, but he also didn’t resist, when big arms circled his body and pushed him towards a warm chest. How much time had passed since he had been hugged? How much time since he had maintained a conversation? Since he had seen _someone_?

He panted into the handsome priest chest feeling himself drown and break, but still trying to contain it all. It was useless. He had been strong for so long, he had endured it all, the killing, the abandonment, the rage and anger of those souls, the sleepless nights, the numbness, and coldness. He just couldn’t with this anymore. He preferred actual death to this death in life.

He let the priest, say shooting words into his hair, his warm and big hands caressing his back gently, telling him it will be okay, that they would solve this. Grimmjow was not sure of that. Those thoughts had always been a dream, not a reality. He didn’t want to have more hope and feel it break again.

When his body stopped shaking, and misbehaving, Ichigo again made him lay back into the sheets and pulled the blankets up. He dried his tears, as Grimmjow felt his mind drift again into dreams he had forgotten, into a rest he hadn’t had in centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Grimmjow is very out of character in this fic, but he is like, hopeless and suuuuper tired, so I don't really know what to do with him. It is also the first time I had writen him as bottom, so I'm also trying to figure out his dinamic with Ichigo a little bit. 
> 
> Hopefully, for the next final chapter I will have him managed. The whole things is already writen, and I plan to post the thing on friday, but the third chapter is also the longest and most complicated one (yeah, cos the smut), so we will see how that goes, or if I find myself deep down into the reviewing/correcting void. I also have to update my other story so...hahahaHAHAHA
> 
> In any case thanks as always to those of you reading and commenting, hope you like this little fic~


	3. Black Ink

Ichigo laid the man down into the futon with care and covered him with the sheets. The blue haired beauty had spent three days sleeping, after Ichigo had waken up in the woods and taken him back to the cottage. Back then, the man had looked bad, almost like a walking dead, he had had weighted much less than Ichigo had expected from a man his size, and been covered in mud and blood. After those three days and the care of Ichigo, he was looking better, his skin had gained some colour and the dark circles under his eyes were starting to vanish. Still, if what the man had told him was true, it will take more than a few days and a healthy routine for him to fully recover.

Ichigo was still furious about the story he had heard. The man had spoken of shamans, a thing that hadn’t existed in this lands for millennia, and although he could forgive the shaman of the story for the lack of knowledge, he couldn’t so easily forgive his lack of care. Grimmjow shouldn’t had been left in the mountain with a curse and a monster to fend for himself. Even if the old shaman knew nothing of what he was facing, he should have come visit Grimmjow to the mountain on daily basis to try figure things out.

The story he had heard spoke of neglect, abandonment and of centuries and centuries of solitude that would turn any man crazy. The fact that this man was still alive, and that the curse hadn’t broken him was just a miracle.

Ichigo sighted, arranging the man’s sheets over him once again, he checked again the warm fire and the cooking food so the man could eat again when he woke up. Then, he got out of the house, picked a paper parasol, and ventured once more into the forest that covered the mountain as he had been doing for the past three days.

He still felt sore and numb from the night he had been fighting the O-Dokuro, he still couldn’t train or cast any kind of spell, but he could exorcise a few little souls.

Walking among the rain and the mud-covered paths, Ichigo started to recite and mumble the little enchantments. Around him, a few papers of the thousands that now covered the forest sizzled and disappeared with no trace, the soul they had been chaining walking into the other world at last.

Ichigo couldn’t yet do this for long before he tired, but each day he got better, and walking among the mountain was also helping and enriching in his own way. The mountains had changed. The moss was still as green as always, the trees looming over him with bright colours and soft sounds, but while before, everything had looked deadly, now it seemed all alive, like any other forest.

And so for a few hours Ichigo walked, helping the souls pass away, and when he had no energy left for it, he started to just pick herbs and little vegetable he recognised, to take back to the cottage and cook for the man.

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when the sun travelled low on the horizon and when the rain decided to pour in earnest, that he returned home.

The man was awake, with another bowl of food empty in his hands and a pinkish hue of warm and health on his cheeks. He was still handsome and striking, with his deep blue hair and blue eyes, soft lips, and tired eyes. Three days ago, when Ichigo had needed to change his teared apart clothes, it had been hard not to let his hands explore and fondle the other a bit.

Which has been weird. He had never had problem controlling himself. When he had become a priest he had known sex and any kind of carnal acts would be penalized, monks were supposed to keep pure and sacred, an example of control for the rest of society. In reality, things were different and only a few of his comrades followed such strict traditions. Ichigo had found always willing partners whenever he went, male and female, it did not matter, if he wished to, there was always someone welcoming him into their mattress. He had had pleasure, but he had also found the control when he had needed it. He had never lusted after someone; it had never been so hard not to touch or comfort.

This warrior however seemed to push all his buttons.

Just as he stepped into the little warm room, the man looked at him with welcoming tired eyes, with trust and total confidence in him. It made him crumble. Just remembering his story, his horrified face when Ichigo had stepped between from the bushes on that first night, and his whole control melted like sand under water. It made him want to go to him and hug, comfort, and make slow sweet love to him until the nightmare still darkening those eyes vanished. It made him want to go soft as he had never been in his life. Lower his own guard. He wanted to do so many things to this man it was almost scary.

He seated next to him instead, and deposited the herbs he had picked from the forest next to the fire so they could dry up a bit from the rain.

“Do you feel better?” he asked trying to be civil.

The man nodded, but not very sure.

“You went thought a huge deal the other night,” he commented easily “it will take a while for your body to get used to the new situation.”

The man nodded again, then he moved slightly until he pushed his sheet backs and revealed his naked ankle and the seal Ichigo had planted on it the other night. “What is this?”

“That’s…the treatment?” Ichigo said not sure on how to explain things. His gaze instantly fixed on the naked skin, on the elegant ankle, on the corded muscles and how soon the disappeared under the blankets.

“Do I have to keep it?”

Ichigo felt his fingers reaching to the other’s leg before he could stop them, but he quickly moved them down to caress only the seal with its already fading kanjis. The touch was subtle, barely a caress of fingerprint against soft rice paper, and still the wild man flinched.

 _Touch starved._ Dear gods.

“Yes. But I don’t think it will hold much longer.” he said truthfully making himself focus on the conversation. The seal was fading faster than he had anticipated, maybe they will have two or three weeks at most.

The male in front of him tensed. “It will come back, then?”

Ichigo looked at him hearing the fear and anxiety in the tone despite the other hiding it so well. The man quickly averted his gaze, a frown in his face, but he said nothing as Ichigo hand circled his ankle in a gesture some might believe possessive.

He was beyond fucked.

“Not really, it was just a temporary measure after all, there are other ways to keep the curse at bay,” he said distractedly, his thumb delineated the curve of his ankle bone over the paper and seeing the other’s whole body tense once more beautifully.

“Like what?” The man asked once more, finally looking back at him, with that frown, with that tense back, with his whole demeanour alert, a warrior ready to strangle him.

It was impossibly cute.

Ichigo forcefully made himself remove his hands from the other’s body. He wanted this man. In his bed, on the floor, on whatever position, and in whatever mood. Moaning crying and begging. But it wasn’t the time and maybe it will never be. The man had gone thought a lot, he was barely starting to recover, if Ichigo pushed now, he will be only taking advantage of the situation. It might only hurt this man more.

So, he sat back, and focused on the conversation once more. Because he had control. Because he was not a teenager lusting after his fist crush. He coughed.

“There are several ways to counteract a curse, however your situation is a bit more complicated than most, since you are also linked to those souls. Destroying that link might only cause you an immense amount of pain, and would just free the monster once more, so instead I was planning on blocking it’s effects rendering it useless until I’m done helping those souls pass away. Then it will be safe to destroy it”

“How would you block it?”

“Well, there are two rituals, one complex and powerful, the other simpler and weaker. Since your situation is already difficult, I would like to perform the simpler one. Do you know of mantras?”

“No.” Of course he didn’t, he had been trapped in these mountains for centuries before even Budish had reached Japan.

Ichigo cleared his throat. He rummaged thought his black clothes until he located a bottle filled with black ashes from a burned temple, and laid it down in the floor between them, along a soft looking brush.

“Sutras are like prayers. They were chanted to push evil and monsters away and to protect and help people. The ritual is one we priest perform on a daily basis for protection. We write those sutras all over our bodies using a special kind of ink and brush. I plan to change them a bit so the prayer fits you, and it can stand for longer than the seal.”

The male looked at him for a moment and then at the tools between them.

“All over the body?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“On the skin?”

“Yes”

Ichigo observed a blush paint pale cheeks with a strange kind of focus, and almost felt guilty for lying about the whole-body part. He observed the warrior tense, the frown deepen, the hands clench into fists. He licked his dry lips.

“The complex one...?”

“As I said it can be dangerous for you, and I’m afraid I don’t have all that’s needed,” then he added on second thought, “The second ritual will also require your…nakedness.”

Was he lying? Obviously. Could someone blame him for it? Probably. He was the worst priest ever. The man in front of him shifted uncomfortable, his face red, but a strange determination show now in his eyes. Ichigo could even read what he was thinking. ‘He had endured torture for centuries, a little more couldn’t harm him, right.’ It made Ichigo felt like shit. But it was better this way, he had said the truth when he said the complex one could harm Grimmjow.

And he won’t allow this man to ever suffer again.

“How much would this… new ritual last?” the young man asked.

Ichigo pondered it for real for a long moment. “I don’t know for sure. A month? Probably less. We will need to repeat it once it starts fading, you should be able to feel it better than me.”

The man swallowed thickly, and Ichigo found his eyes once more glued to the other’s neck as it bobbed, to the clavicles that could be seen thought the opened kimono Ichigo had found for him in the house. It was small for Grimmjow, as if he had long ago finished growing into the thing. It made Ichigo angry and incredibly aroused at the same time since it hugged every curve without shame.

“So, how you want to do it? Do you need to prepare of something?”

This time Ichigo was the one looking at the man confused. “We are not doing it now.”

The man looked at him surprised. “Oh.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. “There are things that need to be done beforehand, I need to replenish my power, and you need to purify for a week. The seal will still hold for a while, so there is no hurry.”

No matter how much he wanted for it to be otherwise and have the man naked before him.

“Purify?”

“Yeah, it is done before any ritual. It helps the soul settle and the prayer to work.”

“What do I have to do?”

…oOo…

The next days passed at a strange pace as the new routine settled in the forest and between them. Grimmjow welcomed the change, the busy mind, the new duties he needed to perform for the ritual. The first days of that week he had spent mostly asleep, his body tired and numb, as if it had needed to recover from all those centuries of neglect and sleepless nights.

However, as days passed, his body slowly recovered, and finally, one day, he was able to follow Ichigo in his walks of exorcism around the forest. They had kept on talking and exploring the mountain together after that. Grimmjow kept asking questions about a world he hadn’t seen in centuries, about Ichigo, and how he had become a priest. Ichigo indulged him and shared tales and stories, sometimes with a sad look in his eyes directed his way that pissed Grimmjow to no end.

Despite his recovering body and the long tiring walks, Grimmjow still managed to do what he needed for the ritual, in an almost obsessive manner. _Needing to get rid of the curse_.

As the priest instructed him, he bathed every day and night in a little pool formed by the biggest spring that ran down the mountains. He scrubbed his whole body clean with a wet cloth each time, he washed his hands and feet rigorously and even did some gargles to clean his mouth. All to get rid of the stench of death, of evilness, and to help purify his soul after all those years surrounded by the curse.

There were other rules too he needed to take care too, some more difficult than others. He meditated every morning when he woke up and every night before sleep using the little sutra Ichigo had taught him that first night. He wasn’t allowed either to eat meat, or things that had been violently killed. He also needed to keep his mind peaceful, with no impure thoughts nor evil feeling allowed to take root.

It was hard. Grimmjow had never been a religious nor a calm man. He had been trained as a warrior, anger and lust and greed were just a part of their daily lives. Even before the monster had claimed him, the rage and bloodthirst had already been there. So suddenly getting rid of it was as if departing with an old part of himself. Still he tried every time, and he bathed, and meditated and ate the bland food. Because this was better than letting his body be taken away by some strange creature every night.

Finally, the day of the ritual arrived before Grimmjow could even begin to complain or worry about it. The letters on the seal over his ankle were almost gone by then, and it’s constant feel, only served to remember him of how delicate the situation was, how easily it could all go to shit.

They cleaned the house together that day, airing the tatami floors, cleaning the bedsheets, the clothes Grimmjow still had, and then they had throwing away the ashes that the little fire had been accumulating through the years. The windows and wooden sliding panels were opened as they scrubbed the floors to let in the autumn fresh, and the ceiling were cleaned of any kind of spiderweb or evil creature. Then, they arranged the whole room once more, they stuffed their clothes on the little trunks, or moved away pans and cooking gear into the kitchen corner until the whole space looked neat.

By late afternoon the house looked almost new. The main room had been almost vacated of things to let space for the ritual, and the piled things on the kitchen looked about to crumble down, but with the rain from the last days, they didn’t dare put them outside. All shone, all smelled clean and fresh, as if the energy of the place had changed just with that. It helped Grimmjow settle even further into the mindset they were going to need for the ritual.

“Go take the bath,” Ichigo told him as he lighted two little incense sticks and put them in a little lamp. “I will prepare things here. Then we can begin.”

Grimmjow nodded, and headed back into the woods. A relentless energy was starting to settle into his bones. Nervousness, eagerness, excitement. He was doing this. He could do this. He was beating the curse and flying free.

When he returned to the house an hour later it was already dark. Grimmjow felt cold. Taking a bath in the frozen spring had never been easy, but with the strange routine, he was slowly getting used to it. The weather however was still autumn cold up, and the chilli breeze was not helping him battle the shivers down as he stepped into the house.

The doors and windows were still open to the cooling night air, but the main space of the house had been covered by a circle of candles and long strings of paper covered in more symbols creating a little cocoon of warm. The air felt already charged with whatever the other had done, as if thick spells covered the space and awakened strange energies.

Ichigo was amidst it all, a wizard in his castle, in the middle of the circle, with an old known brush and a little bottle of black ink at his side. He again looked regal, his eyes focused and centred, his hair like a wild mane of reds and oranges that contrasted against the deep black of his tunic.

It made Grimmjow again shiver under that intensity.

“Come here,” Ichigo said, and his voice allowed no disobedience.

Grimmjow walked over the candles, their warmth welcoming against his chilly skin and naked feet. He stopped before the kneeling form of the priest, not knowing what to do, or if he was allowed to even talk.

Ichigo gestured him to turn around and to kneel too. Grimmjow did so once more without a complain.

“As I said the ritual is not overcomplicated,” Ichigo explained once more, his hands raising to Grimmjow shoulders to help him get rid of the upper part of the thin and little thin kimono he had been wearing this last week. “But it will still take a while. Regardless, try to keep as still as you can.”

Grimmjow nodded, as the soft delicate fabric felt to his hips, caught by the belt.

This felt way more intimate than he had expected, the soft light, the fresh air, the silence. Even the way Ichigo had helped him undress had felt full of things. Grimmjow could almost feel those deep penetrating eyes studying his naked back, following the shifting curve of his spine or the muscles on his nape.

Fuck, and they hadn’t yet begun. This was going to be torture.

A bottle was opened behind him, and Grimmjow almost flinched at the sound. He took a gulp of air, preparing himself, and finally, after a seemingly long moment; the first stroke of the brush over his skin. This time Grimmjow did flinch as the brush moved confidently over his nape tracing one of those strange symbols Ichigo knew. The ink was bloody cold, and it made him hyperaware of it, but the brushstroke however was soft and precise.

Ichigo finished the character and lowered the brush to begin the next one, and then another going down his spine following the line of his vertebra.

Grimmjow, slowly relaxed. It didn’t hurt, it wasn’t uncomfortable, more like the opposite. It felt good. The soft strokes, the cold ink making him aware of every touch. Ichigo worked fast and profesionally, and before Grimmjow noticed, he was dipping the brush again in ink, a line or letters already painted from his neck and down his back to the end of his spine.

Then a pause, a clinking sound, and again cold ink traveling up his back and towards his neck this time and the sensitive flesh there. He flinched again when it touched his nape. Cold little butterfly touches over heated skin. It made Grimmjow want to arch into the touch, or try to escape for it.

“Don’t move.” Ichigo warned.

Grimmjow bit his lip, curled his hands into fist, and tried to breathe through his nose as he had practices during meditation.

Ichigo kept working on him. It felt as if his whole skin was being studied and marked inch by inch, like kisses over already goosefleshed skin. Grimmjow endured line after line of characters, down his back and then up, like a snake slowly curling around his body.

Ichigo painted the right side of his back, and then moved to the right shoulder and down his right arm too. Grimmjow opened his hand this and that way so Ichigo could get at the space between his fingers, and turned his arm around as instructed, so Ichigo could paint more cold wet characters into the inner delicate parts.

Once Ichigo was satisfied, he moved to the left side, and repeated the process over his left back and arm at a slow pace, as if taking care to paint each character right. Grimmjow felt once more the brush go dangerously low down his back, tickle his hairline, and kiss at his fingerprints with a cold touch that left him shaking with horror and want at the same time.

By the time Ichigo finally reached the front part of his body, Grimmjow was breathing with difficulty, and a little glimmer of perspiration was coating his skin. His cock was beginning to stir under the fabric of his kimono despite his best efforts, and he didn’t know if he will be able to look at Ichigo in the face.

They weren’t even half done. This wasn’t even the worst part.

Ichigo this time kneeled before him. Black on black on golden orange. His posture looked relaxed, his expression bland as he dipped again the brush in the ink and rose it to Grimmjow’s face.

“Close your eyes.”

Grimmjow did it instantly. The brush stroked over his forehead, down his nose and over parted lips, before continuing down his jaw, his throat and finally stopping on the hollow between his collarbones.

Grimmjow gulped, his mouth feeling impossibly dry, his face aflame. He could almost feel Ichigo eyes on him as an actual caress. All that intensity, all that power, all focused on him as he kept on painting and messing Grimmjow’s skin.

Blood pounded on his veins, eager and excited. His cock was now half-hard under the pilled kimono on his waist, and Grimmjow was worried the whole purifying thing had been for nothing after all, if his own mind was this mess. Ichigo however said nothing, and he kept on painting. His eyelids, his cheeks, his temples, and down his neck and collarbones making him tremble now with each touch. He lose himself a bit into the strokes and the coldness of the ink, his body already craving something a bit more solid than a little brush to touch him.

“Grimmjow?” Grimmjow opened his eyes to see Ichigo looking at him with dark eyes. “Are you alright?”

No, he was not. “Yes”

Ichigo nodded pulling back a bit. “I need you to lay down now”

Grimmjow obeyed almost in a trance. Moving with an erection between his legs was not easy, but he managed to pull his legs from under his body and lean back on the floor, the ink in his back already dry enough to stand this.

“Open your legs.” Ichigo commanded then.

Grimmjow almost shallowed his tongue. Ichigo had to know he was hard. There was no way he was oblivious about it. However, the priest said nothing else, and Grimmjow just obeyed mortified. He opened his legs, the flaps of his kimono parting to reveal the pale skin of his legs, and pilling too around his waist with the rest of the fabric.

Maybe that was enough. Maybe all that fabric was hiding his cock enough.

Ichigo again knelt between his legs, and rose the brush. Grimmjow almost whimpered. The line this time went through the middle of his chest, down his abs and right over his belly button, the soft touches and coldness over the sensitive zone making him tremble violently and his cock twitch eagerly at every stroke.

Ichigo however didn’t seem to notice it and just continued, down his navel, and then up again, to trace more sacred characters right next to the first line. When the brush finally traced a tight wet stroke over his nipple Grimmjow’s whole body pulsed. Shivering, spasming he rose his arms to his face trying to contain a sob, a moan, whatever sound wanted to escape his mouth.

It was ridiculous, he had never been so sensible, he had never whimpered with a wanton, what was happening to him?

The brush paused for a second over the sensitive hard nub, and Grimmjow waited for Ichigo to say something. Mock him. Pity him. However, the brush only repeated the motion, coldness over heated skin, a soft wet caress over deeply sensitive skin.

Grimmjow’s body arched this time, trashing over the floor. His toes curled, his abs tensed, but there was nothing he could do to stop a third stroke over his nipple, slow and careful, almost teasing.

“Put your arms down Grimmjow,” Ichigo finally said, his voice taking on a low note. “You will smudge the paint.”

Torture, this was torture. For a moment, he wondered about punching the priest, but the man continued to paint over his body as if nothing had happened and Grimmjow obeyed once more lowered his arms and just trying to breathe, to gulp on air, and ignore what was being done to him.

Then Ichigo started to paint his side and down his ribs following a path only he knew. Grimmjow kept trying to combat the aftershocks of that last wave of pleasure, and although it was hard, the painting on this part of his body felt more tickling than arousing and he managed to catch his breath. It wasn’t until Ichigo started to trace lines over hiss other nipple that he knew he was far from surviving this.

This time it was even worst, there was no hiding now, no way to hide his expression or the reaction the little touch drew from him. Grimmjow tried to ride it this time, with his eyes closed and his body tense. His cock was now so hard it was hard to think past the pleasure.

But he managed to contain his voice once again this time, his body feeling feverish, his eyes unable to see what was in front of him, just feeling the brush, the strokes, almost in trance.

He could do this. It was almost over. He could stand this.

It was until Ichigo smacked his knee that Grimmjow realized that Ichigo had been talking with him.

“What?” he mumbled, his voice sounding like nothing he had heard before.

“I’m done with this part,” Ichigo said with a frown over him. “I need you to remove the rest of the kimono so I can work on the rest.”

Removing the kimono would mean no more hiding his reaction to what was happening. It will mean Ichigo will clearly see. It will mean…

Fuck.

…oOo…

Ichigo was having the time of his life. He didn’t considered himself a teasing kind of lover, he preferred to drive his partners mad and pliant with pleasure, fucking into them until they couldn’t take it anymore, but watching Grimmjow struggling and blushing and trying to pretend he was not affected by this, was quickly changing his mind.

Grimmjow looked just way to good taking all this, and although a part of his mind kept telling Ichigo this was just _a treatment_ for the shake of the guy, he couldn’t help the teasing. The way Grimmjow had spasmed when the stupid brush had painted his nipples had been a sight to behold. The way he had blushed from his face to his shoulders, the way he had bit his lips to contain the moans, or how he had closed his eyes so tightly as he went taut from a wave of pleasure, was just too cute.

Ichigo wanted to tease more, he wanted to see how much he could push, and how much would the other allow before snapping angrily at him.

Maybe this, getting him finally naked will do the trick.

Grimmjow started to undo the laces of the belt still holding the kimono up, and Ichigo, sitting back, just observed the other stip. Grimmjow was not even looking at him anymore, his face red and way too embarrassed for this. His hands were trembling as he finally opened the sloped and the thin fabric felt to the floor around his waist to reveal what Ichigo knew had been there from the start.

Ichigo stared.

For a moment he could do nothing but stare because this had to be the most fucking erotic thing he had seen in his life and his mind seemed to have stopped working.

“Lay down” he ordered once more, his voice sounding much more tense and commanding than he had intended.

But Grimmjow just _obeyed, a_ s if this was what he had been wanting to do from the beginning. He leaned down on the floor, sprawled with no finesse, with his eyes closed in a mortified expression, and his breath a rapid rhythm making his chest expand, his muscled pull tight, and his nipples tighten more with the cold air coming from the open window.

Ichigo wanted to do such evil things to him. Grimmjow body was now fully displayed. His legs opened on both sides of him, his tights muscular and big around Ichigo, and the cock between them twitching proudly and incredibly hard. Ichigo instantly wanted to stroke it, tease Grimmjow more to see what else he could draw out of this strong man, maybe he could invent another excuse for it, torture it too with the brush?

He breathed deep.

No. _He needed to finish the ritual first_. He had promised himself only that. He gripped one of those muscular tights, and made the other open his legs more, the knee bending a bit as Ichigo wanted, exposing Grimmjow’s body even further so he could explore it with his sight. Grimmjow trembled under him, biting his lips as if expecting Ichigo to comment on his state.

Ichigo however, only smirked.

On the first stroke of the cold brush against the inner part of his tight, Grimmjow jumped. His whole body tensed as it had been doing all day. He was so fucking sensitive Ichigo wondered how could he even wear clothes during the day? It made him wonder what would Grimmjow do if he gripped his engorged cock as he wanted to do and pumped it, or once Ichigo fucked him deep and proper.

For now, however, he just continued painting, drawing little characters he knew by memory on the other’s skin, watching him squirm under every little touch, gasp desperate for air after every new deep of the brush in the cold ink. Ichigo memorized the sight of him, that adorable blush that went down his chest, the frown of mortification between his eyes, the way his cock kept twitching in what had to be a painful erection by now.

Ichigo finished the tight, and painted down the calf, pushing around Grimmjow’s legs as he wished, rising them up so he could paint the underside, twisting them around his shoulders. Until Grimmjow’s body was almost completely covered by his marks, and his whole body had been thoughtfully touched and covered in sutras in what had to be one of the most obscene rituals anyone had ever endured.

As he finished the second leg, the last character wet over the arch of his foot, Ichigo again looked at the warrior. Grimmjow looked just far away from him, his eyes distant and drunk on pleasure, and his whole-body trembling around Ichigo. His cock proud and twitching rock hard over his belly, no shame or embarrassment left after all this.

Ichigo only licked his lips, because now came the best part of it all.

He pinched Grimmjow’s inner tight to get his attention, and he saw the other arch under him, _touch starved_ , a moan almost scaping his lips as Grimmjow finally snapped out of the trance he was in and glared at him.

“What?” his voice sounded strained.

“I need to paint your cock.” Ichigo stated with his most serious and unconcerned voice.

He however savoured the plain terror on the other’s eyes, the way his pupils dilated with desire, the horror, and the realization of what was left, that there was no escaping this. Grimmjow quickly looked away as if he had been stabbed and left for dead.

“O-okay”

Oh, Ichigo was loving this. “You are not allowed to come.”

Grimmjow’s face snapped back at him, his blush darkening a few tones on his cheeks. “What?”

“You are not allowed to come, it will mess with the paint.” he explained with pleasure, observing the other struggle.

“Alright.”

“Promise me.”

“I…I won’t come, I swear it.”

 _So damn obedient and submissive_.

Ichigo nodded, and instructing Grimmjow to open his legs once more, he dipped his brush on the ink.

He couldn’t help it, teasing this man was just too much fun, to see such a warrior, such a dangerous creature submitted under him thanks to pleasure was too much of an enticement. He painted the first character on the other’s tip, spreading the precum dripping from it, and pressing the ice-cold ink over the heated and sensitive flesh.

Grimmjow arched, his hips trusted forward and the moan he had been containing, finally passed through his lips loud and deep into the night. The sight was beautiful. The way Grimmjow tried to contain the orgasm even more. He bit his lips, his hands clenched over the floor and his whole face contorted in pain as he tensed every muscle in his body trying to keep it in.

When his body relaxed, the legs around Ichigo were visibly shaking, and Ichigo could almost hear a sob in every intake he took. Grimmjow looked devastated, open, and vulnerable, and incredibly aroused.

Ichigo pressed the second character right under the first, and he got exactly the same reaction. The moan, the obscene trust, the sob of frustration. This time however he didn’t give him time to recover as he painted the third.

“No…” Grimmjow said with tears in his eyes from trying to get his body under control. “…Wait”

It sounded like begging So, as he moaned and squirmed, and as his cock kept twitching eager to be stroked and his hips kept on trying to fuck into the air, Ichigo painted him like a piece of art. Over his balls, around his cock, over his navel. Until Grimmjow stopped speaking and instead just sobbed and cried with each new stroke over heated skin. He squirmed, he trashed, he breathed as if he was being killed.

After he was done, Ichigo pulled back and observed the masterpiece.

Grimmjow’s body was arched, holding over his elbows with his head pulled back. The muscles in his neck were tight, his skin red, and his painted nipples were just to perked buds begging to be bitten. His legs were open, bent at the knees where Ichigo had left them, he hadn’t moved them one bit, and he kept moving his hips in little jerking motions wanting to chase some friction.

He just looked as if he was begging Ichigo to fuck him.

“Grimmjow, turn around,” Ichigo commanded, his eyes glued to every little reaction, to every twitch of that dick under his command. “We need to finish the ritual.”

Grimmjow gasped. “I can’t.”

“Turn around.” he commanded once more, sterner this time.

Grimmjow whimpered, but he also started to move. Slowly, as if he needed to think where his limbs were and how he needed to use them.

“Raise your ass,” Ichigo asked evilly. “And spread your legs too.”

There was no need for that, both of them knew it, but Grimmjow said nothing as he indulged into the command. It was that part which made Ichigo hotter than ever as he observed Grimmjow get into the position.

Fuck, he had a nice ass. Round, and thick, and perfect for pounding, and the fact that all his body was painted except for it almost looked like an invitation, the only naked part of skin, bared for Ichigo to fuck into.

Ichigo wanted to bite it. He wanted to slap it hard until it turned as red as those shoulders and ears. He wanted to fuck it open as the Grimmjow too clearly desired.

“Priest?” Grimmjow asked, and the slight confusion in his voice almost sounded like a plea.

This time when Ichigo raised his hands to paint the last part of skin left untouched in the other’s body, his fingers were trembling. He made his work swift, no patience left, the wretched and lost sounds the other was making putting him on edge.

He painted a round cheek, and then the other. He had to spread the other’s checks to paint his crack and it felt like to much stimulation for his mind, it felt like the last submissive act of such a man, a surrender. It made him dizzy.

The hole already twitching made him want to turn feral. Made his own hard cock twitch hungrily, made him forget for a moment why he was doing all this. 

He painted the last character breathing hard and fast.

The whole sutras, the script, the letters, they glowed bright gold for a moment, and the power in the room shuddered. Then, as if it had never been there, it vanished, and with it, the letters and characters seemed to sink into the other’s skin leaving him bare and naked once more.

It was done. They had finished. Ichigo still didn’t seem able to move.

“It’s done.” he said instead.

And just like that Grimmjow took a deep thankful sight, lowered his ass, and sat over his ankles with slow shaking motions. His back to Ichigo, his breathing fast, his whole-body trembling and still completely naked. They stayed like that for a moment. Doing nothing, just breathing, just trying to take back the control that had slipped away.

Ichigo had to ask, it was just politeness. “Do you want help with that erection?”

Grimmjow shook his head. “I’m fine.”

He sounded everything but fine.

“What do you wanna do then? Masturbate?” He asked, pushing the other a bit more, but his horny mind also providing the visual of Grimmjow fingering himself.

Maybe next time. Maybe he could make him do that next time they did the stupid ritual, when Grimmjow was hot and desperate and so eager to obey every little command Ichigo could think of.

Grimmjow however only shuddered.

“You are hard too” he accused Ichigo too. His voice angry and, impatient?

“Yeah, that’s why I’m offering,” he said with a tense smile.

Slowly, Grimmjow turned to him, naked, his cock proud and incredibly hard between his legs. He glared at him and Ichigo just glared back, wanting to do things, but also not wanting to force this last part into the other. He was an asshole. But not that kind of asshole.

It still happened in a blink of an eye.

One moment they were glaring at each other, tension, and danger between them, and in the next, they were kissing. Ichigo instantly pushed Grimmjow once more over the floor and opened his legs wide with the help of his knees.

He gripped Grimmjow thick and hard cock with a firm fist and pumped it a few times as he had been waiting to do all this time. Grimmjow melted against him like warmed butter. All that muscle, all that strength, and glares, all disappeared under a couple of caress and lewd touches.

It was beautiful.

Kissing the other’s lips, until they turned a nice red shade, he let his own hands travelled down a thigh, and then back up, to grip a tight ass and spread him open. He had no patience left in him to do things properly, and by the moans and gasp Grimmjow was making as he shucked a very purple bruise on his neck, he was also too far gone for more too.

He introduced the first finger into the other without much complain, his other hand was still pumping Grimmjow’s cock with passion, and was making the warrior fall back once more on the tatami with a blissful strengthless expression in his face. His eyes were closed, his mouth open as he whimpered and sobbed against Ichigo’s temple with everything Ichigo was doing to him. He looked almost passed out on the lust and pleasure, without protesting anything of what Ichigo was doing to him.

He was taking everything as if he was born for this.

The second finger was a tighter fit. Although Ichigo tried to ease the whole thing with spit and Grimmjow’s own precum, it was clear Grimmjow was not used to this kind of things and neither was his body. He worked him open slower trying to make up for it, drinking each little flinch of the other’s body when he pumped his fingers deep to his knuckles, or how he squirmed under him once he scissored them open trying to gain more leverage.

When he finally got the third finger inside him Grimmjow was sobbing once more. His body tense, his dick so hard it had to be painful, and his hands kept on roaming Ichigo’s shoulders and neck, as if he was trying to find purchase, but couldn’t kept still for longer than a second. Was Ichigo a bit of a sadist for teasing him in that state? Maybe. But no one needed to know.

Pulling back a little from the other, he planted one hand next to Grimmjow’s head, and rose over him. This way he was now only touching the other by the tree fingers pumping in and out of him, deep and hard, in that way that made the other’s squirm frantic. The sound of it was lewd and dirty thanks to the saliva he had used, and it spread over the room along Grimmjow little moans and gasp.

He pumped the other full once more with a sharp twitch of his wrist, and this time he took special care to press his finger pads against a delicate spot he hadn’t yet dared to touch.

Grimmjow arched under him as he had expected, his eyes rolling back on his head, his ass tightening around his fingers as if he never wanted to let them go, and the moans and gasp, they all disappeared. Grimmjow seemed to stop breathing by the pleasure of that little gesture. Ichigo smiled, pulling his finger’s out, and when the naked body under him seemed to relax once more, he repeated the same caress. Again, and again and again.

After a minute of the harsh treatment, Grimmjow was gasping raggedly, his hands gripped Ichigo in a way that will leave bruises tomorrow, and his whole body laid pliant under him with no strength left for him to resist. After five minutes he didn’t seem to be able to respond or even listen to anything Ichigo said, the pleasure so much that his body no longer answered to it, it just shivered by the slightest touch, a wanton moan scaping his lips every time Ichigo’s lips touched his skin once more.

He was so damn sensible. Ichigo had never had a partner like this. It boosted his ego like nothing had done before and it made him want to tease him even further.

“You like this, Grimmjow?” he whispered into the other’s ear. Enjoying the moment, a bit, the power he momentarily had over the other, the sight before him no other man would ever see.

Grimmjow however was too far gone to even answer. Ichigo doubted he was even listening to him even. Just to try out his theory, he leaned down into the other’s ear once more to whisper dirty things. 

“I bet the whole mountain is having an earful with the way you are screaming,” he said. “I bet all those souls are enjoying seeing you like this, the mighty warrior finally showing what a whore he is.”

And again, the other’s whole body clenched, he moaned, he undulated under Ichigo trying to fuck his fingers deeper into him. It was a sight. So Grimmjow was still able to hear him. He was such a treat. So, he had also bit of an exhibitionism kink inside him along the masochist one? Gosh, Ichigo was going to die here with him.

He kissed Grimmjow once more. Deep and messy. Full of gasp and moans and licks.

“I’m gonna fuck you now.” he announced, finally retreating his fingers from inside the other’s body.

Grimmjow again didn’t even answer, he just opened his legs even more to accommodate him in between, and rolled his hips as if trying to fuck himself on thin air.

Ichigo seated back on his heels and undid his own clothes as Grimmjow kept on rolling his hips, his cock leaking and barely touched, and his whole body just asking for more. His breathing was uneven, his whole body exposed to the eye and the candlelight, the sight almost like a dream or an erotic seeing from a brothel.

Ichigo didn’t allow him the slightest inch. He pulled the other’s knees up and open until all of him was exposed to Ichigo. Then he pulled the other’s hips closer to him until the other’s ass and lower back was resting over his own tights.

He caressed the other’s entrance with the head of his cock.

“You want this?” he asked.

Grimmjow again only looked at him with half lidded eyes. “Yes.”

He slapped the other’s twitching entrance with his cock as if mocking “How much?”

A gulp. “A lot.”

Teasing. He loved teasing.

“Would you beg?”

“Yes,” a little pause, the blush deepened “Please…I want…”

Ichigo entered him suddenly, not even letting him finish. Grimmjow made a face of surprise, then he closed his eyes shut and it morphed into pleasure. The brainless pleasure he loved to see. Ichigo smirked despite himself. He had worked the other open so much there should be no pain, and the other was so wet and hot the slide was flawless.

He leaned down over Grimmjow once more.

“If you want it so much, move, Grimmjow”

It was a stupid command. The position allowed the other’s no leverage, on his back, with his legs on Ichigo’s shoulders and his ass on his lap, he just could not move. Oh, but did he try. Ichigo felt him squirm under him, his insides tightening around his cock eagerly, as if trying to milk him dry.

With a final chuckle, he finally decided it had to be enough teasing for the night.

He gripped the other’s knees on his shoulders and pulled back in a slow motion, loving the sensation, feeling the other grow limp and pliant under him once more. Then he snapped his hips back home, the sound of flesh meting flesh reverberating in the room for a moment as that tight heat again accepted him.

Then back out again. Slowly, savouring, indulging, before, thrusting back inside in a hard punishing stroke. Rolling his hips in an old rhythm, seeing the body under him undulate and trying to follow the pace. He opened Grimmjow’s legs further and bended his body in half until it had to hurt, the rhythm of his hips growing faster, eager, merciless. And still, Grimmjow took him inside him gladly, his insides clenching, his cock red and dripping and his whole body covered by bite marks and hickeys and Ichigo’s marks.

He looked good like that.

Angling himself a bit, Ichigo changed the angle, and started to hit the other’s sweet spot in earnest with each thrust. Grimmjow mewled under him, his body liquid fire as it again tensed and arched under him, covered in sweat, and gripping him so tight inside him Ichigo started to see stars.

He made him come just like that. Five hard and punishing trust against his prostate and the big mighty warrior came undone and almost untouched. Thick gust of semen painted his belly, chest, and face. The sight was almost enough to make Ichigo cum. Grimmjow had been so sensitive the whole time, he had answered to every touch and every caress, he had wanted to beg. It was almost endearing how easily he had spilled himself.

Not that it did stop Ichigo. He fucked him as hard and as deep while Grimmjow rode his own orgasm, he watched his eyes roll back, his body grew limb as he seemed to pass out for a few seconds, before coming back to earth to look at him with heavy lidded eyes.

Ichigo kept on thrusting inside that welcoming heat, into that marvellous body seeking his own orgasm, his own end. He knew this one will be a huge one, he had never been so horny, he had never fucked like this, he had never had someone like Grimmjow. Sweat started to build in his forehead as he lowered Grimmjow’s legs from his shoulders, planted his hands on the floor, and fucked into Grimmjow in earnest, almost like an animal in heat.

And meanwhile Grimmjow observed him, with half lidded eyes, with a sated and thankful look that was making it hard for him to focus on his own release. He moved faster, he pumped his muscles, it felt so good, the drag on the head of his cock of the other’s rim, the welcoming heat, even the sound of skin on skin was making his cock twitch happily inside the other.

But at the end, it wasn’t the lust and the carnal pleasure what made him come.

It was the soft hand on his cheek suddenly stopping his movement, and again those electric blue eyes, content, tired, and understanding. It was the soft almost naïve kiss on the corner of his mouth, the thumb drawing a slow circles over his cheek, and the words.

“Cum already, you asshole”

It made him chuckle. It made the tension go and relaxation feel his muscles. This was alright, this was okay. They were both on the same page. His hips rolled, and this time, he let himself go on the wave of pleasure. He shuddered against Grimmjow, forehead against forehead, and he felt soft kissed pressed into his eyelids as his body finally collapsed on top of the other.

They stayed like that for a moment, pressed together, chest to chest, perfect round ass to pelvis, and a mess of limbs. Ichigo kept on touching Grimmjow, as if he could not stop himself, he let his lips grace over a strong jawline, an ear and a neck, while his hands explored the expanse of the other’s chest, the strong abs, the still perked nipple. Grimmjow tried to return the petting, his whole body tired and languid. Ichigo adored to see him like that.

“So…” Grimmjow finally said. “We need to do that ritual once a month?”

Ichigo smiled. “Kinda.”

With a sight he started to pull himself away from the other. They were both covered in sweat and semen, and it was all starting to get gross pretty quickly. He retrieved Grimmjow’s discarded tight kimono, and started to clean Grimmjow and himself as best as he could. They probably needed a bath, but that will have to wait for tomorrow, he couldn’t be made to move, and he doubted Grimmjow too will be eager to walk after all that thoughtful fucking.

“For how long we need to repeat the ritual?” Grimmjow asked again.

“We have to get rid of all those souls of the mountains first,” he explained, as he cleaned the other’s chest with soft strokes. “It will take a while.”

“And then what? you will go?”

Ichigo looked at the other’s face at that, red, with a frown, and not looking at him in the eyes.

Oh. _Oh_.

He couldn’t help the smile spread on his face. “Why? You want me to stay?”

It was just another tease, but panic, fear, and dark things crossed the other’s eyes for a second. The trauma and pain were still too recent for Grimmjow to fully trust, to fully consider such a thing, even thought it was clear he wanted it. The whole thing made anger once more shimmer in Ichigo’s veins, it made him want to maim, to kill and destroy things. It made him want to kiss the other, cuddle and reassure him, repeat what they had just done, but this time with no rush, no teasing nor wild passion, but a sweet love making of the kind that made you want to cry in happiness.

He knew it might take years of decades for Grimmjow to open up like that again, Ichigo had no delusion, yet, once more, the warrior surprised him, when he shrugged at his question as if it meant nothing and with his face bright red he mumbled. “Maybe”

Ichigo smiled happily.

“Well, as I said, it will take _a lifetime_ to clean this mountain of so many souls,” he repeated more slowly this time, so the other will understand. “And it won’t be wise for me to leave you alone while at it, will it?”

Grimmjow looked at him again, trying to hide the surprise, the happiness and all those beautiful emotions of him under one of his frowns.

“You sure?”

Ichigo kissed him, momentarily forgetting the cleaning. “Absolutely.”

Grimmjow still didn’t let go of the topic. “You won’t regret this?”

The insecurities, the trauma, the whole evil past he had suffered. It will take long to get over it. But Ichigo was fine with it. He had always been patient. He was also pretty stubborn after he took a decision. He had not become an errand exorcist by some whim, he had always known what he wanted.

And he had never been so sure about anything as he was about Grimmjow. Yet he smirked evilly. He might be stubborn, he might be a hero for many, and inspiration for others, but above it all he was also a little asshole.

“Well, with as many rituals as we will perform, I don’t think I will have anything to complain about, Grimmjow.” he said petting the other’s tight, now covered in bruises from his fingerprints and nails.

The insecurity and uncertainty in the other instantly vanished.

“Asshole.”

Ichigo smiled and leaned down once more to nuzzle the other’s neck and then lower his head to bite one of those tempting nipples he hadn’t had the pleasure of tasting yet.

Grimmjow gasped instantly.

“Pervert.” Ichigo mumbled.

That seemed to do the trick.

“Excuse me?” Grimmjow said, his tone beyond offended, his whole body ready to beat Ichigo into a pulp.

Ichigo chuckled, and before he knew what was happening, they were both rolling on the floor between half-assed punches, more kisses, and insults. At one-point Grimmjow straddled Ichigo’s hip and Ichigo made a lewd suggestion. And then they were kissing deep and eager once more, and touching, and groping and moving against each other in a different way this time.

More loving, more caring, as if this was the sealing of a promise.

And around them the mountain sleep. Quiet and slowly coming back to life, with no monster roaming and roaring at night. With no curse left but the little souls that needed a last spell. With nothing disturbing its silence and peace but the sound of two bodies loving each other to exhaustion.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first this story was just gonna be priest Ichi solving the curse, then having some hot night with Grimmjow, before leaving to his other missions. Just him being an asshole and living his best sexy life. But then came the plot, feels, and I wanted to give Grimm a something better. It however turned very OC for both of them. 
> 
> In any case I hope you have liked it. Thanks for reading, and have a happy Halloween dears~


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